Odds and Ends
by Santa Carla Sunset
Summary: These are just a few Lost Boys pieces I had collecting dust. One's a spork of The Tribe, another's a piece I used in an RPG and the last is an unfinished FanFic100. I don't plan on completing anything that is unfinished. I just wanted to share these.
1. TLB's MST3000

**Any characters/plots/histories/circumstances, etc. found within the movie/novelization/script or otherwise stated for the movie The Lost Boys isn't mine. Duh. Any characters/plots/histories/circumstances, etc. not found within the movie/novelization/script or otherwise stated for the movie The Lost Boys is mine. So no touchy.**

**This I just couldn't let slide by. The boys just had to spork _The T_**_**ribe**_**, also known as MST3000 or Mystery Science Theater 3000. Up until about 5 minutes ago I just couldn't finish it. _The T_**_**ribe**_** just had that level of suck that even sporking hurt. But I rounded it out quite nicely with another little jab at some testicle-less "vampires."** **I don't think it needs to go beyond where it ends. So, here's a little spork to fill your day.**

**vVv**

_Various jingles and jangles broke the relative silence of the dimmed movie theater as the Lost Boys made their way down the aisle, followed closely by a chagrinned-looking Star, a pouting Michael and Laddie with a box of Juju Bes. In the center of the theater were Edgar and Alan Frog and Sam Emerson, already enjoying their overpriced movie theater snacks when the clanging of various metals interrupted them. The theater that was all their own no longer was as the vampire clan stumbled their way down the sticky row behind them. All three heads turned to watch._

**Edgar** – Great. We have to suffer through this with the fang-tastic four and their semi-sidekicks.

**Sam** – That was a, uh, pretty lame joke there, Edgar.

**Edgar** – Can it, Liberace.

**S** – Hey, this shirt isn't shimmering.

**Alan** – Yeah, _that_ shirt isn't shimmering. Your mom needs to torch your closet and excise the fashion demons.

**S** – That's funny. So the pre-pubescent Rambo look is the way to go then?

**David** – _kicks the back of Sam's chair_ Enough. This is going to hurt plenty without you twerps bitching at each other.

**A** – What's that smell?

**E – **Vampires, my—

**A** – Yeah, duh. They're right behind us. That's not what I'm smelling.

**S** – Smells like . . . Grandpa's back yard.

_All heads and bodies turn towards Paul who has a ring of pot smoke circling his head._

**Paul** – _points to joint_ Medically prescribed to keep the pain away.

**Da** – What pain?

**P** – _points to screen_ This is gonna hurt.

_The lights dim on the group of chittering teens as the movie flickers to life on screen._

**Dwayne** – They surf?

**Marko** – Didn't you read the synopsis?

**Dw** – How could I? You're always hogging the computer.

**Da** – _eyes widen_ _That's_ why it keeps crashing!

**Monster Bashers** – Shut up!

**Dw** – So . . . wait . . . how do they surf at night? They don't even have David's spotlight midget. Do they have night vision?

**Michael** – Or a plot hole.

_Laddie grunts as he picks a juju be from his teeth._

**Da** – You know, there's something emasculating about the leader of a vampire gang in flip flips.

**Ma** – Right. Like we don't know about—

**Da** – Quiet, pygmy.

**Ma** – _mumbles_ Rabid badger.

**P** – So which one am I?

**Dw** – What?

**P** – _inhales_ You know, there're four of them. Which one am I? David's the one with the lobotomy.

**Da** – I resent that.

**P** – You mean you resemble that. _snort_

**Da** – Do I sound like that?

**Star** – Only after three days of no sleep.

**Michael** – How would you know that?

**St** – _rolls eyes_ I didn't join the fan club yesterday and it's not like I baked cookies to become one of them.

**P** – Brownies would've been better.

**Ma** – Paul's the Rasta.

**Dw** – But they're all idiots. I'm holding out for tubular.

**Ma** – And they're sloppy.

**Mi** – Yeah, and the Surf Nazi dog pile was inconspicuous.

**Dw** – Wait, are we minions? Because those morons look like minions.

**Da** – Like I'm going to order a feed and not take some for myself. WHY ARE THEY EATING THE INTESTINES??? Are they zombies or vampires? Maybe they should go for the brains . . .

**S** – Dude, say it, don't spray it.

**Da** – _kicks Sam's chair_ Quiet, yuppie.

**S** – I'm not a yuppie.

**Mi** – Well this looks familiar.

**P** – Is this supposed to be Santa Carla?

**Dw** – Luna Bay, Paul. It's supposed to be Luna Bay.

**P** – Could have fooled me. _chokes on smoke_ Dude! It's the saxophone guy! Wow. Maybe he should cut back on the Mickey D's, huh?

**Dw** – Kind of oxymoronic to see a fat homeless guy, don't you think? What with them starving and all?

**P** – And not a spot of rust on his chains! After all these years . . . I need to find out what he uses.

**Mi** – So Uhaul is the only moving company in America?

**P** – Hey! It's Michael and Star's prodigy!

**Da** – That's progeny, Paul. Progeny.

**S** – Ok, the house we moved to, weird but nice. No TV but still livable. They look like they're neck deep in a shit hole.

**Mi** – Watch your mouth.

**Ma** – So Aunt Jillian is . . . ?

**Dw** – Star's sister?

**St** – I have a sister?

**Dw** – Apparently.

**St** – News to me.

**Da** – Gotta hand it to them, though. Those kids do look like you two.

**St & Mi** – _grumbles_

**Da** – So why did this Shame guy just randomly show up?

**Dw** – Shane, David. His name is Shane.

**Da** – Whatever. I had a purpose in bringing the newbs into the family and I at least did it with some finesse. Did someone rub a lamp because he came out of nowhere.

**Ma** – Snippy.

**Da** – His feet are too small to fit in my shoes.

**Dw** – Cocky.

**Da – **You know it.

**P** – Shit! _drops remnants of joint_ My roach! _dives under chairs_ Someone give me a light.

_A hand pops up above the chairs, the screen casting a sickly pale glow onto it. Dwayne places a Zippo on Paul's palm and the hand disappears only to be followed by a click and a flick._

**A** – Christ, these guys aren't subtle, are they?

**Dw** – Neither is the chick in the red bikini.

**Ma** – Why are they serving margaritas?

**Da** – Because they're short on testicles.

**Dw** – Wait, what? Why is Mike Jr. and that guy fighting? Did I miss backstory somewhere?

**Mi** – Plot hole.

**P** – _pinching the roach and only succeeding in charring his skin as he tries to light it_ That chick's ready to hump that kid's leg.

**Da** – _scoffs_ Could his handshake _be_ any weaker? Come on! He didn't even grip her fingers! Pussy. And what's with his hair?

**Ma** – You have a mullet. You're not in a position to judge anyone else's hair.

**Da** – At least mine isn't the mullet supreme.

**Ma** – At least I can't slash tires with mine.

**P** – Boobs!

**Dw** – We didn't have boobs.

**Ma** – We didn't need them.

**P – **I need them.

**Ma** – Eat your roach, Paul.

**P** – _pops roach into his mouth_

**Ma** – I, uh, didn't really mean that.

**P – **_shrugs_

**St** – What's with the flower? It just came back to life? Can you do that, David?

**Da** – I can fly. That supersedes this prick's lobotomized petal-pinking.

**Dw** – Bet he doesn't know that's Ophelia on the wall.

**P** – Bet he doesn't know that girl's jail bait. _swallows hard_ So wait, all I have to do is pick up a surfboard and I can nail that chick?

**Ma** – _sneers_ You'd want to?

**P** – Why not?

**Ma** – Oh I don't know, herpes?

**P** – We can get those?

**Ma** – Ask David.

**Da** – It was a _cold sore_.

**Ma** – Oral herpes. That's what I said.

**Da** – _ignores Marko_ Triumph my ass. That beast should be riding him.

**Dw** – Looks like the chick's about to.

**Mi** – _spits soda_ Are they gutting each other?

**Da** –_ inhales popcorn kernel and hacks_

**Dw** – _frowns at David as he partially choke_s

**Ma** – Gut like a fish. _pops Jujy Fruit into his mouth, spits it out when he realizes it's licorice and checks the color of the next one against the screen, orange_

**Da** – _wipes away tears from eyes _ Can we fast forward, please? _hacks, pokes finger in back of throat to dislodge kernel, hacks again_ I'm getting anxious.

_Movie lurches forward at rapid pace._

**P** – Warp boobs!

**Ma** – Dead boobs.

**P­ – **Do we turn to stone?

**Dw** – Not that I know of.

**A** – Wait, where am I? It's Frog _brothers_, right?

**Da** – Yadda, yadda, yadda . . .

**P** – Bra-ed boobs!

**Ma** – Angry brother.

**Da** – That needs a life.

**Dw** – Is she walking weird or is it just me?

**Da­ **– Is that—

**Dw** – Don't say his name!

**Da** – _cocks eyebrow_ Why?

**Dw** – His creator will sue. She's crazy like that.

**P** – Pasty-covered boobs!

**Ma** – Obviously editing failed somewhere.

**P** – Jail bait!

**Da** – Initiation, initiation, initiation . . .

**A** – Where am I?

**E** – Obviously I've lost you to the dark side.

**P** – Luke, I am—

**All** – No!

**P** – _pouts_

**St** – So my daughter just gropes over the first guy she comes across? Is she a throw?

**Da** – I think the term you're looking for is slut.

**St** – Can it, porcupine.

**Da** – Ouch.

**Dw** – Another initiation?

**P** – Is it just me or does it look like they're all on speed?

**Dw** – The movie's on fast forward.

**P** – Well that explains it.

**Da** – More slaughter, more slaughter . . . _yawns_

**Dw** – He's killing the vampires already?

**Da** – Fuck this shit.

_David stands up and forces his way out of the row and into the aisle, making his way to the exit._

**P** – David, wait! _David stops and turns to look at Paul._ It could be worse. They could be vegetarian vampires.

_David rolls his eyes and shoves himself out the door._

**A** – Where the shit am I?

**vVv**

_Reviews are always appreciated._


	2. The Voice Speaks

**I used to moderate/head/whatever-you-want-to-call-it a Lost Boys RPG with another fan. We wanted the RPG to be perfect and before this piece even came about, we spent a lot of time brewing, plotting and polling the participants to see where we should start the game and where it should go, not to mention what we should use as backstory and so on. One of the things we decided on was to have an omniscient, central voice to the story, a sort of narrator, to give some background information, like what's below, when it was needed. It was a way to take that kind of burden off the people playing the characters so they could just play and let this voice jump in when it needed to. Well, we needed something introductory so she wrote her piece and I wrote mine. The final product ended up being an amalgam of both but below was the introduction I'd written for the game. A lot of the things mentioned regarding the characters are not what I believe for the world but it was decided on for the game. This isn't a start to another fic or anything, just the only piece of that game from how many years ago that I took away with me.**

**vVv**

Welcome to the little coastal town of Santa Carla, California, known amongst the locals as 'Murder Capital of the World.' Now, I don't know how accurate of a title that really is. I'm sure there are other places on this earth whose death toll ranks heads and tails over this seaside town but I guess that remains to be seen. Regardless, what you see before you is what you get – runaways, houses out on the hills, on the cliffs, the boardwalk and the pier. I must say it's rather apt that you arrived at our sanctuary at sunset. There are those around that would bid you warning to stay in and protect your neck. Silly folk they are.

Now back to the sights. If you venture further into town, you won't find much except some residences, one in particular that sits atop a hill overlooking the ocean. A suspicious old man lives up there, but that's not where we want to begin. No.

The boardwalk. Now that's where the hub of the town centers. I guess you could add the pier into the mix too but we'll get back there in a minute. This boardwalk, filled with games, rides, shops, food, piercers, this is where all the children of the night come to play. Don't jump ahead of me! This town doesn't like to wake up until three in the afternoon so by the time the sun sets, the party is in full swing, lasting well into the night, feeding the vicious cycle. The youth of Santa Carla occupy the beach during the day, soaking up the sun and riding the waves and at night they wreak havoc on the boardwalk. At night the beach is littered with bonfires and open-air concerts and the wooden planks above them support the throngs of rowdy crowds well into the night.

Big Al, the boardwalk security guard, is less than thrilled with his job. Two groups in particular give him extra trouble: the Surf Nazis and the Lost Boys. The former is a group of surfing goons loaded with Mohawks and tanned skin. They think they own the boardwalk and Big Al has had to quell their hijinks on more than one occasion. The latter is a group of motorcycle punks keen to dominate the boardwalk. They don't cause as much trouble on their own but they have been known to clash with the Surf Nazis and many a tourist has filed a complaint about their motorcycle riding. Big Al has banned them both from the boardwalk on numerous occasions for their troubles. They might abide for a day or two but the trouble always starts up again and, of course, Big Al is always the one to stop it.

Over on the pier is the quieter section of the boardwalk. Here lies the nicer, fancier restaurants, more upscale shops and less noise than the ride-ridden boardwalk across the bay. This bulletin board right here – look at it. Littered with fliers for pieces of nothing for sale, concerts long past, and look at this. A posting for a seminar on the existence of UFOs at some hall downtown. Looks like we're two years too late since it's July 1987, not July 1985. Needless to say, this board doesn't get cleaned regularly. More often than not, if someone needs to post something, they just tack it on top of what's already there. In fact, I'm convinced that if you were to stick a tack in, it wouldn't even hit the corkboard, the layers of paper are so thick.

But that's not why I brought you over here. That, the video store, is what I want you to see. This video store, having the best selection in Santa Carla, is owned by a man named Max: a tall, rather lanky fellow, goofy in a trying-to-be-hip sort of way. And that's Maria behind the counter. She looked like she was dragged from a truck when she first came here but Max took her under his wing. He's a kind man like that, very much a father figure.

Max has been in Santa Carla for quite some time now. No one really knows for sure how long and Max certainly won't tell you. No one's really paid him much mind. He's rather quiet, has a tendency to keep to himself but people know his name. Grandpa Emerson, the man that occupies the house up on the hill overlooking the ocean, he's seen Max around for quite sometime now and Grandpa is rather suspicious of Max. You see, ever since Max came to Santa Carla, people started disappearing. Most people didn't notice, especially in a town populated with transients, but Grandpa did. Every once in a while the paper would do a report of some runaway being found on the beach or tossed under the boardwalk, drained of blood. These deaths were usually just passed off as accidental, the kid hurt himself and bled to death. Funnily enough, though, there was never a drop of blood to be found. Again, all of that was passed off with excuses like the ocean must have washed it away. None of these murders get investigated because, let's face it, no one really cares about runaways.

But Grandpa, Grandpa's smart. He's taken notice and connected all of the dots and has come to just one conclusion: vampires and it's Max's doing. The death toll has been rising over the past six months or so. Grandpa's worried that Max has turned more people. This is why Grandpa doesn't like going into town. He much prefers the company of his stuffed animals or the widow Johnson.

Grandpa has allies, though, in a couple of young kids about his younger grandson's age, named Edgar and Alan Frog. They run the comic book shop on the boardwalk and, like Grandpa, have been noticing strange things happening, people disappearing, people dying, no blood to be found. The only logical explanation is vampires and since that is, they have armed themselves (kept in storage in the back room) with a plethora of wooden stakes and informative reading material in the form of comic books aptly named _Vampires Everywhere!_ and the like. They're not stupid. They're going to be prepared for whatever may come but they, unlike Grandpa, haven't a clue as to who the vampires could actually be.

Max, our dear vampiric Max, knows about everyone. Just like Grandpa has seen him, he's seen Grandpa and is rather thankful that the old man stays away. He could ruin his plans. He scoffs at the Frog brothers, knowing they're nowhere close to his scent.

Since Max . . . adopted the Lost Boys about six months prior, he's been anxious to share this parental burden with someone else. Four night-stalking boys in their late teens can be a handful. And boys need a mother. Max has often brought his boys, David, Dwayne, Paul and Marko, to his house, situated on a bluff, to discuss these plans but thus far nothing much has amounted. His adoption of the girl called Star didn't go as planned but she was in too deep. He gave her Laddie Thompson, a runaway child of about ten, to keep her quiet and so far it's worked. But they all need a mother and he a wife. He desperately wants a family.

On another bluff, a bit further away, sitting on the edge of the world and down a rickety set of stairs, is a cave that no one dares venture into. Stories have been told that those who enter never come out and those lucky enough to get close hear laughter, crazy laughter, and the sound of bats, much larger than any bat should be. But if one were able to get inside and come out alive to describe it, one would see it's the remains of a sunken hotel, dressed to suit its occupants, and it looks rather lived in. This is the home of the Lost Boys and on this night, where our story begins, they have taken off from their home to meet Max at his. The plans always need to be discussed and tweaked as needed. They've changed so many times already the boys, more often than not, just nod and go along for the ride.

But now something is different, something is changing. There's new blood on the wind, only a week away. Someone's expecting family, someone's expecting a comrade, someone's expecting love, but none of them expected trouble.

**vVv**

_Reviews are always appreciated._


	3. FanFic100 Sort Of

**This is from a FanFic100 that I never finished and don't plan on finishing. There's definitely a dominating theme of interior monologue with all of these, spurned by lines from the movie. I have no idea why. I guess that's just what came to my head when I was writing them. Eh. What are you going to do?**

**vVv**

**Eddie Munster**

_We are the gods of the evil undead. We toasted that sorry excuse for Bon Jovi. This is easier than I thought. Just a dog and some holy water and you're good to tackle the demons of Santa Carla. Bloodsuckers beware. We own you._

_What the hell is that?_

A rumbling could be felt under the bed and Laddie burst through it moments later in full fang. He ran across the room, trodding across Alan's stomach in the process.

"Holy shit! The attack of Eddie Munster!"

_God dammit, they're spawning! Demon child. That girl is guarding him? Let him come at me . . . I'll take him on. Sure thing._

**Food**

"Marko, food!"

Marko rolled his eyes.

_Marko get the food. Marko get the bottle. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Why can't he leave me to tend to my pigeons? Makes me waste gas, it's a pain in the ass to balance the food on my bike. What does he expect me to do, install a basket on the front? I always get some kind of goo on my seat. I'll get him his food all right._

"I'll take four number twelves, three twenty-sixes and just throw in a bunch of rice and egg rolls. And duck sauce."

_What the hell? Who stole my bungee cords? I'm going to hurt someone. I'm going to get grease stains on my chaps now. Shitheads._

"Feeding time! Come and get it boys!"

**Chinese**

"Chinese. Good choice."

_That pygmy shit knows I hate Chinese. It makes me bloat yet he gets it anyway. And he knows I can't complain in front of Michael. What the hell would that make me look like? I'm supposed to be the leader. What the hell's the point if no one listens to me? That's it. I'm telling Max. And now he hands me rice. Plain white rice. I'm cutting his mullet when he's asleep. Fuck this. I'm passing it off on the noob._

"How can a billion Chinese people be wrong?"

_Just take it! Lo Mein? What the hell? Christ, where are the chicken fingers? Oh. Half-masticated in Paul's mouth. Great, the disgusting cow._

**Nanook**

"Chill out, Nanook."

_Kid, look. I'm a dog. I would think that's rather obvious what with the fur and taste for Alpo. All I do is chill out. You move me here. I have no idea where I am. There are funny things in the living room that I don't know if I should eat or hump, your brother's gone evil and your mother's oblivious. And who is that old man? He smells like smoke and rawhides. Can I gnaw on him? He even kind of looks like a piece of chewy. But you really need to stop talking to me like I have any clue what you're saying. Need I say it again? I'm a dog. Just feed me, pet me, play with me and, when needed, provide some "company" for me. Thanks._

**Newsprint**

"Are you guys sniffing old newsprint or something?"

_Who are these guys and what comic book did they step out of? They really need to cut down on the Dracula and Rambo movies before bed. Are those their parents? Jeez. No wonder these guys are toasted. God. I can't believe Mom moved me here. The only two people my own age are ready for Army Youth and I don't have my MTV. What Batman is this?_

"I'll pray I never have to call you. Sure."

_If this is what I'm going to have to look forward to, seclusion isn't looking all that bad._

**Garlic**

"Garlic don't work, boys!"

_And they call themselves vampire hunters? Man, I could run circles around these fools. I eat garlic for breakfast. Well, no, but I do like it on a good piece of chicken . . ._

"Try holy water, death breath!"

_Son of a bitch! Those little shits got my mesh wet! Awww, it feels strange now. Wait, my hair! What does my hair look like? Where's a mirror? You dumbass. Sigh. I'm really going to have to hurt them. First the mesh and now the hair? Man, I can get over the whole melted face thing. Chicks dig scars anyway. Wait, do I scar? Where's that paper cut?_

**Jim Morrison**

Dwayne stood in front of the newly acquired portrait of Jim Morrison now hanging on the cave wall, arms crossed over his chest, frowning.

_We really need to stop letting Star choose our décor. Not very masculine to have a picture of a half-naked man on the cave wall, now is it? Girl's too brooding and all "pity me." The kid's cool but why do we need to keep her around? David won't let me give her a Mohawk, I can't write on her face with a Sharpie. Really, no fun. We're taking decorating tips from a girl who needs to walk sideways through a door. No wonder David got sick of her. Probably leaves tumble hairballs in her wake._

"Dwayne!"

Dwayne turned his head and raised an eyebrow in response.

**Beat Box**

_Like a virgin. Ow! Touch for the very first time! Like a ver-er-er-irgin. Hear my heartbeat for the very first time. Oh no, baby. I don't got no heartbeat. Ha!_

Paul jumped up onto the broken fountain's edge and grabbed his beat box, lifting it up to stand next to him. He made some adjustments and then strummed away on his air guitar.

_Let's go all the way. Yeah. Let's go all the way. Damn. I got to stop. Star's such a prude, man. No wonder David's got the quakes. Ha! Bet Mikey's gonna get some luck with her. Damn. Should I fuck before I feed or feed before I fuck?_

**Closet Monster**

"The real reason I divorced your father was because he never believe in the closet monster."

_My god. Dad's such a prankster. Always was. I'm sure it's nice for him to have kids in the house again. My sweet boys. Michael knows but Sam, I just can't tell him the truth about his father and his slu . . . mistresses. I guess you fall into the traps that lies make. Max seems nice enough. He did give me a job, after all. I just hope it wasn't for ulterior reasons. But really I'm not that blind. He's silly, goofy, but it's endearing. But it's too soon. The boys wouldn't take to him. I know Michael wouldn't. And Dad just doesn't like anyone._

**Double-Stuf Oreos**

"This is where I keep my root beer and my Double-Stuf Oreo cookies."

_Kids better not eat them. I keep track. I can't tell them I actually count the cookies. At least they haven't found the pot._

"Read the TV Guide, don't need a TV."

_Don't they know anything? My brain provides all my entertainment and that's more than enough. There's always town if I need some excitement but I think that may be too much. I'd like to keep my blood in my body. Dead animals are better than undead people anyway. Knowing my luck, I'll be dragged into the middle of their shit kicking and screaming._

**vVv**

_Reviews are always appreciated._


End file.
